


Canary in a Cave

by Molly_Hats



Series: Batboys & Bluebirds [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Detective Comics (Comics)
Genre: Bruce is named Thomas in this AU, F/M, Gen, His personality is the same, Implied/Referenced Torture, Language, Mentioned child pornography, Most of the Batfam tbh but I didn’t want to tag everyone, Robin Reversal AU, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 07:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13584912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molly_Hats/pseuds/Molly_Hats
Summary: Tim Drake joins the Batfamily as the second Batboy, succeeding Damian Wayne and joining Stephanie Brown, the second Bluebird.  He finds a family, a way to help people, and a place to belong.   Unfortunately, he also finds his death.





	1. Part I: Timothy

Tim handed her a USB. Without thinking, she took it, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger to examine it as he talked. 

“I did listen to you, you know. I’m not out in the streets, even as something other than Batboy, which is a loophole you very sloppily left open, btw, because Batman has who he needs in a partner in you, Batgirl. he doesn’t need me on the streets.”

“What’s on this, Tim?” She asked, holding it up. It was blue. Nice touch, she hated to admit.

“What did you think I was doing the last few months?” Tim asked, the corners of his mouth tipping up just a bit in a way uncomfortably reminiscent of Damian. Maybe it was a rich smug ahole thing—here’s the correct fork to use for this out of the five available, here’s how you plan a multi course meal, and here’s how to smirk at the plebeians. She’d have to get some tips from Alfred later on how to beat him at it.

“I’ve been investigating. I started with cold cases, the Doe project mostly. But I moved on. How familiar are you with the dark web?”

“That sounds like some made up term from a cheesy hacker movie.”

Tim sighed, but she was certain she saw him lighten up a bit at the joke. “It’s a...like a black market internet. Hidden IPs and a focus on anonymity, and even more porn saturated than the regular internet.”

“That’s possible?”

“Ha, ha,” Tim deadpanned. “But the main thing is, Bluebird, it’s drug dealers and child pornographers and pedophiles enabling each other and rationalizing and passing on trade tips and selling each other stuff with Lexcoins.” He nodded to the USB, which Stephanie shifted to her palm. “All the stuff you’re trying to stop. It took me awhile to get in, had to spend months on Hard Candy (that’s legit the name) to get an invite, but it’s there. It’s all there.” 

“Tim…” Steph said, stalling for time. “Tim, you shouldn’t be immersing yourself in this, it’s not healthy…”

“What, my mental health is more important than theirs? My innocence is more important than that of these kids that are being exploited?”

“You’re a kid, too, Tim!” Steph almost shouted, catching herself just in time. 

“I’m older than you are!” It was a deduction. 

She didn’t call his bluff. “Tim, you have a shot at a normal life! That’s all Batman and I are trying to get for everyone!”

“Me too!”

“But this isn’t healthy—“

“Pot meet kettle much?!”

“I told you to leave—“

“What, you’re an authority in my life now? I don’t even know your name!”

“Wait. You don’t?”

“Shoot.” 

Steph grinned, and Tim must have sensed it even under the mask because he groaned and leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair.

Tim scratched his head, his fingers skipping along oddly as if caught on things. Finally, he spoke. “That’s beside the point.”

Steph rolled her eyes, but kept grinning.

“I’ve been getting off the streets and onto the highway.”

“‘Information Super-‘ or ‘-to hell’?”

Tim ruffled his hair, hand finally coming to rest on the nape of his neck. “Both?”

“I should convince Bats to let you into training just to bring up your pun game. It’s embarrassing.”

Tim tried to hide it, but she saw the desire behind his smile, the way his smirk began to give way to something softer. He looked down at Steph’s hand and placed two of his fingers on hers, closing it into fist with the hard drive inside.

“Uhh?”

“Get them, Bluebird. Get Batman and find them and knock the crap out of them and save those kids. Okay?” He looked up at her, earnest now, and she was caught off guard by the seriousness and theatrics. Damn if he wouldn’t fit in with the Wacky Waynes.

She tucked the USB into her utility belt, nodded once, and climbed onto the windowsill. “Bye, Tim.”

“Bye, Bette.”

She shook her head and leapt onto the tree, climbing down from the second floor window like she did every night from her own.

—

“Tim...what have you gotten yourself into?” Steph whispered.

“I did it to save them!” Tim said flatly, his hand gripping the table. “I didn’t post anything, I just rode some pervert’s coattails. I just needed to get in. I didn’t download or post or hurt anyone, I just needed in—“

Steph grabbed him by the shoulders, turning him away from the desk and pulling him to face her. “Then you should’ve gone to me! Batman! Nightwing! You’re a fifteen year old, you shouldn’t be prowling around the deepnet—“

“Dark web.”

“—trying to convince perverts you’re like them in order to get some sort of vigilante justice. This is illegal, Tim. You’re gonna be in so much trouble!” She shook him, unable to help herself. 

He glared into her eyes through the mask and held up the USB. “Last one. I promise. Then I’ll quit. I’ll leave. Go to boarding school in France or something.”

“You’re lying.”

He reached out and caught her by her shoulders. He leaned in, his cheek brushing hers as he leaned into her ear. “Alright. Stephanie.”

Her eyes widened, and she tried to play it cool, but she knew he could feel her heart race.

She seized his arms and kissed him.

When she finally released him, he looked dazed. She smirked. “Speechless?”

“How long have you wanted to do that?”

“Since I met you,” Steph admitted, safe in the knowledge that she had an excuse, a necessity really, since her ID was at stake.

—

“The FBI is going to find him,” Thomas growled. “Why didn’t you tell me before, Stephanie?”

“Because he wasn’t disobeying,” Steph said, crossing her arms. “And up until yesterday, I didn’t know how far he’d gotten.”

Thomas stared at the screen as it scrolled through files. “He’s been on there for months,” he said, and Steph, expecting reproach, was surprised to hear...respect?

“What are you going to do about him?”

“Hnn.”

“That’s not an answer,” Steph said.

—

Tim drank his last sip of coffee, setting down the mug and staring at the screen for a few seconds before he stood up and stumbled toward the coffee maker. Rich brat that he was, he had bought his own for his room so Mrs. McIlvaine wouldn’t complain again about his terrible drinking habits. 

The cup slowly filled. If only she knew.

“Timothy.”

Tim jumped, hand halfway to the pot. He pulled back to defend himself, whirling, only to find himself face to face with the Batman—or rather, staring up at the silhouette of Batman. He blurted, “Good timing. Two more seconds and you’d have had some second degree burns on your conscience.”

“It’s lukewarm.”

Tim blinked before realizing the comment tied to his own. In his exhaustion and the adrenaline rush, he’d almost forgotten what he’d said.

“So, Uh, Batman. What brings you here?” He asked in a laughable attempt at a casual tone, leaning against the countertop, forgetting about the coffee. He didn’t need it anymore.

“The FBI is onto you.”

“Good evening to you, too?”

Batman sighed. “I can offer my protection. A job. A place in the cave.”

“I...I’m honored but…”. Tim wasn’t even sure what would follow the “but,” he just knew this couldn’t be true. Batman wouldn’t seek him out. He was just a dumb kid who dove into the vigilante pool too quick.

“I don’t have time for extensive computer research and intel gathering. I can use someone who does, and has the skills already.”

Tim glanced over at the cup of coffee and reached for it with trembling hands, then thought better of it. 

“Timothy?”

Tim looked up at Batman, and he could make out the details of his face now—the boxy chin that he’d come to recognize so well from blurry pictures and video comparisons. “I...please. I mean yes. Thank you. Batman.” He internally cringed. Possibly externally too.

In the shadows, Batman might have smirked as he left. Tim couldn’t tell. Newly energized, he ran back to the computer without coffee.


	2. Part II: Canary

“Tim. Go to bed.” Steph ordered, arm slamming down on his shoulder. 

His gaze barely flickered. “Just a few minutes…”

“TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE YOU ARE GETTING SLEEP RIGHT FRICKING NOW,” she commanded, grabbing his arm and dragging him away from the keys. He reached out futilely.

“I established a connection with whoriadne—“

“Your getting chummy with a child molester is gonna have to wait a bit,” Steph said, dragging him as he stumbled, either unwilling or unable to walk normally, toward the door. 

“It’s not getting chummy, it’s a sting operation. And you can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my real mom!”

“...that doesn’t even make sense, Tim. What the heck.”

“I dohn wanna!”

“Okay, you are going to bed right now before you tell one of them that you’re a fifteen year old vigilante with connections to Batman.”

“Stehhphhhhh,” he whined, but it was token resistance now. 

“Bed,” Steph said as she shoved in an open door with her shoulder and half-swung, half-threw him onto the bed in one of Wayne Manor’s thousand guest rooms. “Sleep.”

Tim whined without words one last time before promptly falling asleep face first on top of the ornate bed. Steph closed the door, shaking her head. She looked up and down the hallway, then pulled out her utility belt rope, tied it to the door, and headed back to where she thought the cave was.

She was still figuring out how to navigate the manor. It was way too big for an orphaned only child. Hell, it was big for a full fledged orphanage, which it was well on its way to becoming now.

—

“You ready, Canary?”

“Batboy.”

Steph sighed. “Fine. Ready for me to kick your ass?”

Tim raised the staff. “Aren’t you going to tell me—“

She leapt, kicking at his arm. He swerved out of the way, swinging wildly with the staff. Steph landed in a crouch. “Good instincts.”

“So we’re just gonna try to beat each other up?”

“No. Wanted to see your reflexes.” Steph grabbed a staff of her own and held it in a basic grip. Tim copied her.

“Now, I’m going to show you how it’s done,” Steph said, a wicked grin on her face. “Welcome to the Batfamily, Timbo!”

— 

“I’m pregnant.”

“What?” 

“I’ve got a bun in the oven. Expecting. In a family way.” She met his eyes, amused by his shocked expression. “Preggers.”

“Oh. Am I the—“

“No. Making out doesn’t make a baby.”

“The name is misleading,” Tim mumbled.

Steph ignored him. “So I’m gonna need to take some time off from Bluebird. I passed it on to Cass, she’ll handle it. I asked her to take over your training if you’re still gonna be stubborn and try active duty.”

—

“He promised he’d be here for the delivery,” Stephanie whispered. She stared out at the polluted night through her hospital room window and squeezed the side of her bed. A nurse entered, and Stephanie turned to see her. 

“Stephanie, there are people to see you.”

“Tim?” Steph said hopefully.

Thomas and Cass entered the room. Thomas looked even worse than usual, and even Cass had a bandage across her forehead. 

“Where’s Tim?” Steph demanded. 

“Stephanie…” Cass said slowly, taking even more care than she usually did with her words.

“Where is he? If he couldn’t make it he can tell me, I’m mad but I’m not gonna kill him,” Steph said, a sneaking suspicion building somewhere around her lungs, stealing her breath. She kept talking, the words she’d saved for Tim pouring out. “I decided to give them up for adoption after all. The nurses say they’re healthy.” Her voice cracked and she felt her breath running out, but she gasped as subtly as she could and continued. “I was scared, but it’s okay now. So tell me. Where’s Tim?”

Everything slowed as Thomas produced a broken, bloody staff and held it out to her.

Steph looked down at it, then up at Thomas, her eyes watering. “Tim?”

“I’m sorry, Stephanie.”

“How?” Steph forced out.

“Zsasz.”

“You caught him, right?” Steph asked, not waiting for an answer. “You made him pay.”

“Steph—“

“Tell me you caught him.”

“Stephanie, we won’t rest until—“

“Then why are you here talking to me?! Go! I’ll be fine! I already delivered the baby!” 

“Wanted to see you’re okay,” Cass said. She reached out a hand to touch Steph’s arm, but Steph flinched away. 

“Go,” Steph repeated. 

Cass hesitated, then nodded to Thomas. Silently, they left the room. Finally alone, Steph broke down into heaving sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tone shift! Curse of the even Robins strikes.


	3. Part III: Aftermath

A week later, during one of the rare moments when nobody was watching her, Steph snuck out of bed (where she was supposed to be recovering from the C-section) and into the batcave for a glimpse of the crime scene records. She pulled them up and sat down heavily in the chair of the batcomputer, watching the images of his mutilated body blur with her tears.

“He fought,” Damian’s voice came from behind her. “Zsasz prefers his slashes small and intentional. Drake didn’t get with the program.” 

Steph didn’t turn in the chair, but stiffened.

“He died fighting,” Damian continued.

“He died with coagulates in his blood to stop him bleeding out,” Steph said angrily. “He died slow and painful at the whim of a psychopath. So don’t lie to me!” She snapped, whirling the chair to face him, angrily blinking back tears. “Nothing you say can make me feel better about it.”

“It was his choice, Brown. He threw himself between Zsasz and the Gotham Academy kids.”

“And where were you?” Steph glared up at him. “While a 15 year old was tortured to—“ her voice gave out, but she couldn’t force herself to repeat it—“to death?”

“I was getting the kids out,” Damian said. “I wanted to go in his place, but he was closer. And then he said he was a mark—a boy Z killed in that family slaughter a few years ago—and nothing would stop Z then. He never lets a mark live. By the time I came back for him he was gone. We searched—”

“You found him three days later,” Steph finished impatiently, her words slicing cleanly through Damian’s. She knew it wasn’t his fault, that he’d suffered plenty too, but she still wanted to hit him, to make him hurt, to throw it all back in his face. “You never cared about him then, when he was alive, did you?”

“Brown, that is an unfair accusation.”

“You were always fighting! Always telling him he’d never have a place here!” Steph stood, ignoring her wobbly legs and slapping an arm onto the chair for balance. “Well now he’s gone. You don’t have to worry about him replacing you anymore.”

Damian opened his mouth, then closed it again. “You’re grieving,” he said, turning away.

“No _s***_!” Stephanie shouted after him. “Don’t patronize me, you piece of s***!”

Damian began to take the steps out of the batcave, seemingly ignoring her. 

She ran after him, but was forced to slow down when a wave of dizziness crashed over her. Damian turned around with a worried look in his eyes.

“I’m fine—“ She lied, stubbornly coming after him still, him descending the stairs toward her twice as fast as she could ascend.

“You should be in bed,” Damian said, suddenly sounding like Alfred.

“ _So. Should. Tim_ ,” Steph spat through gritted teeth. 

Damian held out an arm. “Lean on me.”

“F*** you.”

“That was not a request, Brown.”

Steph glared at him as he slipped his arm under hers, but she let him without any real resistance. 

“Alfred keeps telling Father to install an elevator in the cave for when we’re seriously injured.”

“Not a bad thought,” Steph admitted, grimacing at another stab of pain.

—-

She was across from Tim. And she couldn’t move. She couldn’t even speak. And Zsasz made cut

After cut

After cut 

And Tim screamed—

“Stephanie!”

Her eyes popped open, and for a moment she was sure she was dreaming still as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light and she recognized the figure standing over her, shaking her and saying her name. “Damian?”

“You were screaming.”

“You called me Stephanie.” She said in disbelief.

“Are you going to make something out of it, Brown?”

“Why’re you here?” 

“Because I heard you. And I wanted you to be quiet.” He walked over to a chair and sat down. 

“You’re sweet,” She said sarcastically.

“Brown, that’s not what I meant, I meant that I don’t want you waking up screaming with nightmares. You can talk to me.”

Stephanie sniffed, hating herself. “You don’t need any more blackmail material, demon brat.” She reached out for a pillow lying halfway down the bed and hugged it to her chest.

Damian slumped out of his chair and onto the floor, running a hand through his hair and staring at the ceiling. He clicked his tongue and spoke. “The Assassins did not train me in emotional support, but I recognize its necessity for mental health and team efficiency.”

“Are you trying to say ‘let’s talk about feelings’?”

“...Yes.”

“Damn. You could give Thomas a run for his money in the ‘emotionally stunted but well meaning’ department.”

“Tt.”

“That’s never gonna replace ‘hnn,’” Steph commented, a ghost of a smile flashing across her eyes for a split second.

“Brown…”

“What do you want me to say?!” Steph asked. “‘I forgive you?’”

“You’re not mad at me, Brown,” Damian said. “At least, not _just_ me. You’re mad at him.”

“That psychopath? Wow, congrats, you figured it out, look out, Batman, there’s a new detective in town—“

Damian shook his head impatiently. “Drake—Tim. You’re mad at Tim.”

“You’re full of it.”

“He threw himself into danger he knew he couldn’t survive. He made sure that Zsasz wouldn’t stop until he killed him. He sacrificed himself when he didn’t _have_ to, although it was the best chance for everyone else to escape.”

“Shut up!”

“You’re mad at him because he died, and left you. You’re mad at him because he didn’t tell you. You’re mad at him because _you didn’t_ notice, and you’re mad at yourself.”

“Get out of my room,” Stephanie hissed.

Damian held up his hands. “If you need to talk—“

“—I’ll talk to Harper,” Stephanie finished. “I don’t need to be psychoanalyzed by the boy who thought assassination was a good response to sibling rivalry!”

Damian left the room, shutting the heavy, dark wood door behind him.

“Unsuccessful, Master Damian?” Alfred asked, carrying a tray with Stephanie’s medications and some water to wash them down.

“Tt.”

“Your approach does leave something to be desired.”

“Tt.”

“Hmm. It is a question, isn’t it?”

“What are you talking about, Pennyworth?”

“Which tic is more vexing: that clicking of yours or that grunting of Master Thomas’.”

“Hnn.”

“Was that a _joke_ , Master Damian?”

“I joke, Pennyworth. Just not often,” Damian said.

Alfred didn’t answer, opening the door to Stephanie’s room. “Miss Stephanie…”

Damian left before he heard more, headed down to the bat computer. It was time to call in a favor.

—

“I’m insulted that you thought I wouldn’t help unless you called in a favor,” Duke Thomas said, his arms crossed across his chest. 

“Duke, if he wants to waste a favor, let him,” came a voice from offscreen-Claire Clover-Thomas.

“Don’t worry, I have plenty to spare,” Damian said, smirking but amiable. “How are the kids?”

“Good, for the most part. Mia said her first full sentence a couple of days ago, and we seem to be through the worst of the flu season. But you didn’t call me to talk about the kids, Wayne. You’re too professional for that.”

Damian ran a hand through his hair, a new habit he was trying out. “Zsasz killed one of us. We need to find him. We need to take him down. And...if Claire could talk to Steph—without saying anything that would incriminate me of course—she needs someone.”

“Thomas has his moments,” Claire said, ducking into the frame, a toddler in her arms. 

“Not consistently.”

Claire nodded. “Fair.” She vanished from the frame as quickly as she appeared.

“I’ll do all I can, Dami, but I’m not sure what I can do that you’re not already doing,” Duke said, spreading his arms and shrugging.

“I don’t want you as Gothamite. I don’t even need Claire to put on the miniskirt and tights again. I just need information.”

“Then ask.”

“Where’s Nyssa’s Lazarus Pit?”

Duke’s face immediately locked down. Damian could practically hear it, the thunking of every car door locking at once.

“Baby bat—“

“I helped you find it!”

“You won’t do him any favors, Damian, bringing him back like that.”

“Would you rather your wife be dead?”

“Leave Claire _out_ of this—“

Claire stepped in front of Duke, gently pushing the toddler into his arms with both hands before turning to address Damian. “I can handle this myself, honey. Mr. Wayne, the dead should stay buried. The pits...they are psychologically damaging. Even if they worked on Tim, he wouldn’t come back the same. I’m only functioning because I never technically died.” She smiled ruefully. “The migraines are a bitch. Speaking of, never stop by during my time of the month. I’m basically a berserker.”

Duke nodded in the background.

“He agrees with me, doesn’t he?” Claire asked Damian, shooting a glance over her shoulder at Duke, who was busily looking so innocent that he was practically whistling.

“I’ve read your paper on the topic, Dr. Clover-Thomas, But—“

“Even if he’s strong, it won’t be your Tim.”

“Don’t say his name like that.”

“Like what?”

Damian clenched his fists. “Like you knew him.”

Claire’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Damian. I really am. But if you love him…”

“Give up? Let him _die_?” Damian growled.

“He’s already dead,” Duke said, stepping forward, gently bouncing up and down to the delight of the giggling child on his hip. “Accept it. I know it’s hard. But you’re one of the strongest men I know.”

“Tt. Flattery will get you nowhere, Thomas.”

“It’s the truth. Goodbye, Damian.” He stuck out a hand, ending the transmission. 

The image lingered frozen for a moment on the screen before closing with an alert message. Damian turned away.

—

It had been years since he’d indulged in anger to this degree, letting it flow through him, letting himself be swept along for the ride, free and dissociated. He raised his sword and hacked at the target as the sounds played in the background, screams and pleas for help, for mercy, for death. 

The sword snapped in his grasp, and he hurled the hilt across the room, standing still gasping for breath, refusing to fall to his knees.

The tape cut off mid-scream, and Damian looked up to see Thomas watching him, hand on the dial. “Damian,” he reprimanded.

Damian breathed hard. “It focuses me.”

Thomas moved over to Damian and slowly, awkwardly, placed a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need to punish yourself.”

Damian sniffed, shoving back the tears. “I should’ve been there for him.”

“We all—“

“ _Before_ Zsasz.” 

Thomas didn’t answer, and Damian moved as casually as he could to take a seat at the batcomputer, sinking into it more heavily than he intended.

Damian felt hands on his shoulders and turned to Thomas. “What are you—“

Thomas seized him in a hug. After a moment of hesitation, Damian freed his arms and wrapped them around Thomas, his tears dropping onto Thomas’ shoulder and rolling off the body armor.

They sat in silence for awhile, arms wrapped around each other, letting the moments pass. 

—

The city looked the same as always from above. Damian knew better than to expect it to change, but it was still startling. Compared to the mansion, so thoroughly scrubbed clean of Tim’s influence that he could see newly empty spaces everywhere, the city carried on as usual. 

“You good?” 

Damian turned to see Flamebird—Maps Mizoguchi—land on the roof. She strolled over to him with a casualness that would seem forced from anyone else. 

“What do you think?” Damian snapped. 

“Fine. Patrol as usual?” 

“Yes. Watch the crosswinds.”

Maps almost rolled her eyes. “Always do.”

“Be careful.”

“Right back ‘atcha,” Maps said, patting his arm before shooting the grappling hook. She swung off into the night. Damian watched her for a moment before heading his separate way.

—-

Stephanie curled up in one of the worn leather chairs in Harper’s office. She’d slept in these before, nights on the run from her dad, homeless and nowhere to go. Her finger ran along the padding, feeling where the stuffing was sticking out of the rips, where the duct tape was peeling off. 

Harper entered the office, slipping off her lab coat and crouching in front of Steph. “You needed to see me?”

Steph nodded, slowly unfurling, lowering her legs so that her feet touched the ground. “Tim’s...Tim’s dead.” 

“I know,” Harper said quietly. 

Steph angrily wiped at her tears. “I should be...I should be over this by now. I should at least...I should have progress...I shouldn’t...I got up and I was gonna ask him about his backup electrical grid he’s...he was working on.” She sniffled, and Harper immediately pressed a tissue into her hands, holding the tissue box she’d apparently conjured from nowhere. 

“Steph, it’s okay. It’s normal.”

“But you’re okay! Damian’s okay! Everybody is functioning. Carrying on. And I’m here. Stuck. And I try to move but I can’t, and I don’t know why.”

An alarm sounded, and Harper’s head whipped around. “I’m so sorry Steph, but I need to go. I’ll try to send someone, okay?”

“It’s okay. I’m fine,” Steph smiled weakly. Harper ruffled her hair and slipped her coat back on as she walked out the door.

When Harper came back an hour later, Stephanie was gone.


	4. Epilogue: Jason

“Caught him trying to steal the wheels off the Batmobile,” Steph said, easily holding the struggling boy aloft by the collar of his battered red jacket. “I'm not sure if I should be impressed or annoyed.”

The boy kicked out, but Steph easily blocked him.

“What's your name, son?”

“Jason.”

— 

“He’s too young and inexperienced, reckless and angry and--”

“Stephanie, I get it. You’re always worried the next Batboy won’t live up to it.”

Stephanie laughed bitterly. “More that he won’t live, period.” 

Damian crossed his arms across the bat symbol on his chest. “I thought the same about Harper. Even more about you.”

Stephanie glared up at him. “I was--”

“Jason doesn’t have family. We’re not dragging him away from safety and family. He’s a street kid with enthusiasm and nothing to lose and a desire to do what’s right.”

Stephanie huffed. “You can chill with the parallels, demon boy. I get it.” _Didn’t it occur to you, Mr. World’s Greatest Detective (now that they’ve all died and made you that) that I’m worried precisely BECAUSE he reminds me of me?_

“Do you?”

Stephanie jabbed her finger into Damian’s chest right above his arms. “Yes, Damian, I know! You think I don’t deal with his death every damn day of my life? You may’ve been family, but yours was a dysfunctional mess. He was my boyfriend! My partner! We chose each other!” She flung an arm out toward the glass case where Tim’s suit stood, posed with staff in hand as if he’d merely vanished and left his clothes behind, stiff and frozen.

“Spoiler, I let you keep--”

“You _let_ me?” She said in disbelief, sounding like she might actually laugh. “You _let_ me? Do what? Be Bluebird? Be Batgirl? Be Spoiler? Not go home and stay home and rot while the big strong menfolk with their assassin training went out and fought for me?”

“Dragging sexism into this argument isn’t fair.”

“You didn’t think so when you told me I hit like a girl.”

“I was 12!”

“And you lost to your mom every year, you’d think you’d have some respect.”

Their arguments inevitably wandered away, nothing solved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks to @Bellafarallones (Bellamortsmordre), who patiently and enthusiastically read and edited this story even while having no idea who the characters were. It’s due to them that this story is not a steaming pile of poorly written melodrama. (Or worse written and more melodramatic).
> 
> Also, on a minor note: many thanks to Jerseydevious, who introduced me via their tumblr page to Batman calling everyone son. You will pry this bit of characterization from my cold, dead hands.


End file.
